The Return
by DramaGeek
Summary: In a failed attempt at skipping Christmas, Clara and the Doctor end up stranded at the Holmes residence just in time to lend a hand in a rather unusual case that may involve an old enemy.
1. Skipping Christmas

**A/N ** I started this story at the beginning of series 8 (proving what an appallingly slow writer I am) and I was so sure Danny Pink would survive. Alas, I guess it's okay if it's a little bit AU. Imagine this takes place sometime before Dark Water, and I'll endeavour to finish before the Christmas special.

_I had so much fun writing my last Wholock that I've been meaning to do another. This idea came to me while rewatching "His Last Vow", the same night I learned that Jenna-Louise Coleman was leaving Doctor Who at Christmas. Hope you enjoy._

* * *

Nothing unites teachers and students in a common purpose quite like the final bell before Christmas break. The mundane ringing sounds almost magical as it signals the end of school and the start of the holidays. This joyous sound is soon followed by a chorus of cheers, 'Happy Christmas's, and the rhythmic beating of sneakers and dress shoes against linoleum. And every year, within fifteen minutes the halls are all but deserted.

This December was no different. By 3:16 Clara walked past dark classrooms, shooed the last of the students, and made her way to the empty staffroom. Empty that is, except for Danny Pink, who was sitting in the corner at his usual table, enjoying the paper and a strong cup of coffee. Clara liked the idea that even the holidays couldn't shake his routine. As Clara walked over to him she noticed his mug said 'Number 20 ÷ 4 x 2 - 9 Teacher'. "Did one of the kids give you that?"

"No, embarrassingly, my mother did. But they're a bit old, aren't they, to give gifts to teachers?" Clara set serval bags and parcels on the table as she sat down across from him. "Maybe it's just a maths thing," he said in a mock glum voice. "Didn't expect you to be here. You're always rushing off at the best of times. Or am I being graced with a goodbye?"

"The Doctor's picking me up later." Clara said with a shrug.

"Oh, are you spending Christmas with him this year?" There was that slightly worried, trying not to be jealous tone Danny always seemed to get when talking about the Doctor. Despite the amount of time that Clara spent with Danny, Christmas plans had never been discussed. Clara was never keen to address the topic and she was all too good at distracting Danny for him to get a real answer out of her up until now.

"No. We're not spending it at all. Going off on some adventure of his choosing and coming back for New Years with you."

Danny looked a little appalled, "So you're just sort of skipping it?"

"That's the plan," Clara said, cheerfully. "The whole Christmas thing, not really a fan. What about you? Seeing your family?"

"Not this year. My parents are visiting my sister in Calgary."

"What, like Canada?"

"Yeah, and I can't afford to go."

"I'm sorry," Clara said, sympathetically.

"It's alright. I'll celebrate with BBC Christmas specials in my dressing gown. It'll be more relaxing at any rate. It's a shame you won't be around," he added with as close to a wicked grin as his sweet face could manage.

Clara took his hand in hers and then suddenly smiled, as if she had just had a brilliant idea, "But you'd rather be home, if you could?"

"'Course, but—"

"We could drop you off."

Danny looked uncertain, "What, you and the Doctor? I wouldn't want to be any _trouble_." Both of them knew that 'trouble' in this case really meant 'conflict'. The Doctor and Danny had met on a number of occasions, even helped save the world together, but usually when they were in the same space they couldn't help but argue.

"It's a space ship, it'll only add a few seconds to our journey." When he still looked hesitant she added, "The two of you can get along for a few seconds."

"'Course we can. At least I can." Clara gave him a look. "Sorry. But okay… yes. That'd be great!"

"We'll come get you around 8:00, well if the Doctor's on time." Clara rose, grabbed her parcels, and headed for the door. Just before leaving she changed her mind and ran back over to the table.

"Forget something?"

"Yeah," Clara kissed him—a long, deep kiss.

Danny looked pleased, if a little taken aback. "What about the rule?"

"No one around to see us, is there? See you tonight."

* * *

Clara's evening was uneventful. She washed the few breakfast dishes in her sink, cleaned out her fridge, and threw the rubbish and recycling in the bins outside. She had come home to rotting groceries too many times not to take a few preemptive measures. Especially since this time the Doctor _intended_ to return her two weeks later.

Clara was sitting on the couch, enjoying a cup of tea, when the TARDIS materialized in her living room. She glanced at the clock: 7:59. _Well, stranger things had happened_, she thought with a laugh, and, still carrying her mug, she walked on board. The Doctor barely acknowledged her. Instead he glanced between the screens in front of him, his brow knit in tight concentration. He didn't so much as look up at her greeting. Clara rolled her eyes and walked over to him. Staring at the same screens she asked, "What is it, then?"

"Something strange," he did a quick whirl around the console, flipping levers and checking dials. "Omega radiation!" He said at last, as if that was some kind of answer. Clara just stared at him blankly. "Oh come on, you know it. It's part of the whatsit, your electromagnetic spectrum."

Clara raised an eyebrow, "It's really not."

"Oh, well, it will be." He turned back to his screens and took another reading.

"Is it harmful?" He kept typing. "Doctor?"

"What? Oh harmful. No, not really."

"Why do you care, then?"

Something on the Doctor's screen made him smile. "Because it's behaving rather oddly."

"Behaving? I thought we were talking about some kind of light."

"We are. One, I might add, that is only found in very low levels on this planet."

"But not lately?"

"I've detected isolated areas that have a concentration more than ten times greater than the planet's total. But that in itself isn't the strange part."

"No?"

"The strange part is where I'm finding it."

"And let me guess, you want to follow it?" The Doctor was about to agree, but Clara cut him off, "Which we can do in a minute. First we're going to pick up Danny."

The Doctor got huffy (which somehow made him extra Scottish), "You never said your boyfriend was joining us."

"He's not, we're dropping him off at his family's"

"This is perhaps the most advance ship in the universe. It's not a chauffeur service for some PE teacher." The Doctor said with distaste.

Clara tried to ignore his remark and answered lightly, "Don't see why it can't be both. Besides, seeing as how it's so _advanced_, it should only take us a minute."

"But the omega radiation—"

"Will still be there when we're done."

* * *

Danny Pink had been standing in the middle of his living room with a duffle bag over one shoulder for the last five minutes. He wanted to be completely ready to insure he didn't delay the Doctor and Clara. He knew Clara wouldn't care a lick if he needed an extra minute to put on his shoes, but he knew from experience that the Doctor would make a jab at him for just about anything, and since Danny didn't trust himself not to respond back in kind, he was not going to give the Doctor any invitation. He was determined to 'play nice' and it was this intention that led him to be already in his trainers, even though he had a strict 'no shoe' policy in his flat.

Fortunately for Danny, the TARDIS soon materialized. Clara called out to him from the doorway, "Fancy a ride?"

"Always," Danny replied, relieved she was the one greeting him.

"Down boy."

Danny blushed and hurried aboard. "Hello Doctor. Thank you for the lift. I… I really appreciate it."

The Doctor didn't look up from the console, "Yes, yes, fine."

Danny walked over to Clara, never once setting his bag down. He smiled at her, and then awkwardly turned back to the Doctor, "Sorry, I should probably tell you where—"

"Already have it," the Doctor said flatly.

"But—"

"I'm a Time Lord, do you really think I couldn't figure out where your foster family lives? Even Clara can do that and she can barely find the Internet."

Danny looked a little puzzled and said to Clara, "Aren't you like a computer genius."

"Well, she is now."

"Not exactly the point, is it?" Clara said, trying to steer the conversation back on course.

"No. What is the point?"

Clara sighed and tried not to let her annoyance show, "That you have Danny's sister's—"

"Foster sister."

"His _foster_ sister's address and you're taking him there. Now."

The Doctor stared at her for a moment without any real comprehension, before whirling around and setting a new course, "Right, Calgary. Fine place. More fun when there were dinosaurs. We'll have you—" Something on a screen caught the Doctor's eye. He froze in place, his eyes moving back and forth reading the data. "That's weird."

"What is?"

"The radiation is somewhere new." He took another reading and glanced back at the screen. "What would you be doing there?"

"Doctor. You were dropping Danny off."

"Yes. No. In a minutes."

"Doctor," Clara repeated sternly.

"We'll just take a wee look. Won't be a second."

"No, Doctor, we'll drop Danny off and then we'll go after your radiation."

"It's really not a problem," Danny called over unhelpfully.

_He had to pick now to try and get along with the Doctor, _Clara thought with irritation.

"Good lad. See Clara, will just pop there—"

"No you won't. You know full well that if we land we'll start investigating and we'll be there for ages." Clara tried to affect her infinite teacher patience, "Let's just take Danny home, then we can come right back."

"It may have moved by then."

"You have a time machine!" Clara said, in exasperation.

"Right, so really I can drop Danny off whenever." The Doctor walked around the console, and changed the course. "I'm setting the TARDIS to follow the radiation. That way if it moves as we're landing we will still be in its path."

Before Clara could object again Danny said to her, "I don't mind Clara. You two are doing me a favour. I can wait while you sort this out."

Clara took his hand and shook her head, "You really have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

The wheezing sound of the TARDIS echoed throughout the room. "Just a quick peek." The Doctor paused before opening the door. He turned back to Clara, who was only a step behind. "The PE teacher should stay here."

"He's not exactly helpless. He's helped before."

"Even so."

Clara looked apologetically at Danny, "He's right, you should wait for us here."

"Is it dangerous? Because I think I've proven myself when it comes to dangerous."

"Right. Dan the Soldier Man. Still not coming," the Doctor said, in a sort of sing song way before leaving the TARDIS.

"It's just that the Doctor's world is… well it's a different kind of dangerous."

"But it's okay for you?"

"Guess it's sort of my world to." Clara stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. "We'll be right back."

Upon leaving the TARDIS Clara was immediately taken aback by the scene in front of her.

"Not exactly what you were expecting?"

Clara stared at the simple, red, rural home and small garden, surrounded by a squat stone fence, "Nope. What's emitting the radiation?"

"Don't know," the Doctor did a quick scan with his sonic screwdriver. "Maybe nothing, maybe it came here on its own."

"But how could—" Clara's question was interrupted by the sound of the TARDIS departing. They turned around just in time to watch it dematerialize.

"Where do you think you're going?" the Doctor shouted at the last pale image of the TARDIS before it faded away completely.

"Doctor," Clara gave him a stern look, "Where'd it go?"

"How should I know. You're boyfriend probably pressed something. This is why we shouldn't let just anyone on board."

"He wouldn't press something! Your stupid snog box just ran off with him."

"Maybe she's taking him home."

Clara looked relieved, "Really?"

"No, probably not." The Doctor appeared to have lost interest in the situation and was wondering around the front garden, taking readings. "It's gone. The omega radiation's nowhere…" He paused and looked back at where the TARDIS had been, "Stupid, stupid Doctor. Forget any of that last part. I know where she is."

"Good, where?"

"Wherever the radiation has gone."

"Okay, where's that?"

"Haven't a clue."

"Of course you don't." Clara shook her head, and began walking up the garden path to the front door.

"What are you doing?"

"Knocking."

"Why?"

"Well, we're stranded here, I've left my phone in the TARDIS, and we could probably stand to call a cab, at least to get us back into London… or the nearest train station. Besides, we can always ask these people if they've noticed anything strange lately. Anything, say, to do with this radiation of yours."

"How is it that I don't pay you?"

"Because, Doctor, I'm the boss."

"Does that mean you're going to pay me?"

"It's a mentorship program. You earn the benefit of my wisdom."

As they approached the house they began to hear muffled voices inside. _At least someone is home, _Clara thought. In the doorway the voices became clearer and they were able to make out, "Just put it on."

"I don't see why I have to wear a paper hat."

"Sherlock."

"What's the point of the hat?"

"Tradition"

"Oh boys, don't fight. Don't worry John, Sherlock never liked those hats."

Clara turned back to the Doctor, "This could be pretty domestic."

The Doctor rolled his eyes at the thought and knocked on the door.


	2. Christmas Eve

**A/N** _And we're back. Sorry for the delay. Got caught up on another story, and I was curious to see where the season was going. I know this won't be able to stay cannon for very long. I've gone back and changed the first chapter slightly to better match the Doctor and Danny's relationship, now that we know what it's like. Happy reading._

"Happy Christmas!" Announced a woman in her late seventies, as she opened the door. Her good cheer was somewhat diminished when she realized she didn't recognize either of the people standing on her front step, "Are you.. are you carolers?"

"No. I'm Doctor John Smith, this is Clara Oswald, and we need your help." Both the Doctor's tone and his rather threatening eyebrows made his statement sound more like a command than a request.

Fortunately Clara added, "We're a bit stranded. Would it be possible to use your phone?"

"Of course, dear. That sounds absolutely monstrous. Come on in. How did you get stranded?"

"Our friend—"

"Absconded with the vehicle," the Doctor finished as they were led into the kitchen.

"If anything, _it_ absconded with _him_." Clara had only meant for the Doctor to hear that, but, judging by the strange looks she receive from around the table, that had not been the case. "It's been acting up. The car has. Our friend probably took it to a mechanic."

"Leaving you here? Oh you poor dears."

Clara nodded solemnly and took a quick glance around the room. There were three men sitting at the table, all of whom, like the welcoming host, were wearing paper hats. At the end of the table sat an older man with grey hair and a kind face. He wore a bright red bow tie and an ugly Christmas jumper. _Guess they start the celebrations early here_, Clara thought to herself. The next man was the spitting image of the first, save for his dark clothes, dark hair, and far darker demeanour. He barely looked at Clara and the Doctor, instead he adjusted his paper hat until it seemed to be merely holding on to his head by a few black coils of hair. Clara would have wagered this was the man she had heard complaining from the door. The last man was about the same age as the second. He was shorter and his sandy blond hair seemed to be turning prematurely grey.

"Would you like something to drink?" Their kind hearted host asked. "Or maybe something to eat. We've just finished lunch, but there is plenty left over."

"That's alright," Clara said, "We wouldn't want to impose."

The woman laughed, "There's no 'imposition'. It's Christmas."

"No it's not." Clara said, a little too quickly.

The family was now looking at her rather oddly. All except Sherlock, who seemed to be noticing her for the very first time, "I like this one. And she is indeed correct, it's Christmas Eve—"

"See Clara, we can still skip it after all," the Doctor whispered to her.

"—and I fail to see why all of these outdated and absurd traditions have to be spread out over two days."

"Sherlock…" the younger man seated next to him said in a warning voice, the same one Clara had heard through the door. "We've talked about this."

"You're name's Sherlock?" Clara asked, suddenly very interested in this strange man, who was all the stranger juxtaposed with the perfectly ordinary setting.

"Sherlock Holmes," he said, almost proudly, as he gave Clara a slight bow of his head.

This grabbed his mother's attention, "Of course, where are my manors? This is Doctor and Mrs. Smith—"

"Oh, no. We're not…"

The woman touched her face in embarrassment, "I am so sorry. Let's start again, this is Doctor Smith and Clara, was it?" Clara nodded. "This is my husband William Holmes, our son Sherlock, of course, and his partner John Watson—"

"Business partner," John added, rather quickly.

"And I'm Maggie. It is a pleasure to meet you both."

The Doctor, who up until this moment had barely been paying attention, looked suddenly interested, "You can't be… are you—"

Sherlock began to answer before the Doctor had even finished his sentence "Yes, yes I am—"

"You're Margaret Holmes. Margaret L. Holmes. Author of _The Dynamics of Combustion_!"

Mrs. Holmes blushed, "I am, but don't hold it against me."

The Doctor looked confused, "Why would I do that? It's rather brilliant. And coming from me that's a big compliment." Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were eying the Doctor uncertainly, while Sherlock suddenly looked like he was nursing a bruised ego. The Doctor, of course, paid no attention to any of it, "Oh, this is perfect!"

"What's perfect?" Clara asked hesitantly, wondering how she could have been so foolish as to assume he could act remotely like a person for the few minutes they needed to spend with these people. At this rate they would be thrown out long before they could ask about the omega radiation.

"I've got calculations, and we've found a mathematician! What do you say?" Mrs. Holmes continued to look at him rather strangely. "Would you help me sort through some data? I could do it all, of course, but it will be faster with two." He looked as enticing as he could manage, which for him was really just a little less intimidating than his usual look.

"Oh I don't know," Mrs. Holmes shook her head, "I'm so very rusty."

"Never mind that, It's like riding a bicycle, a bicycle of numbers and quadratics, and, well you get the idea."

"Is it very difficult?"

"Practically impossible. That's why I need you."

Mrs. Holmes suddenly smiled. She was clearly flattered, but there was something else that made her almost glow, the possibility of a true challenge. "Let's do it then. There should be enough space up in my sewing room. Boys, you can do the washing up. And make sure Clara gets something to drink and eat, if she would like." Mrs. Holmes smiled again at the Doctor and then led him upstairs.

Clara watched them go with a little concern. What was she to do now? Noticing her unease Mr. Holmes said gently, "There's a phone is the living room you can use. Why don't you have a seat out there and I'll bring you some tea?"

Clara nodded and gave a quick 'thank you', before walking through the door and into the adjacent room. The room was warm and inviting. Filled with books, over stuffed chairs, and a roaring fire. It was also decorated with lights, garlands, and a small tree in the corner. _So much for skipping Christmas. _Clara took a step towards the phone, thinking she could at least try calling the TARDIS. The floor creaked beneath her feet and a head popped up from a large chair facing away from her.

"Hello?" The blond woman stared at Clara for a moment, clearly trying to place her. When at last she was certain she had never seen her before she added, "Sorry. Hi. I'm Mary. Are you a neighbour or a friend of the Holmes?"

"No," Clara walked a little further into the room, "We're just a couple of strays they were kind enough to take in." The woman nodded, but looked a little confused at Clara's use of the plural, she glanced behind Clara, expecting to see someone else there. "My friend and I got sort of lost. He's just upstairs, doing Maths… I'm Clara," she said at last, taking a seat on the chesterfield. She glanced over at Mary and noticed she was holding a baby in her arms. "Who's this?"

"This is Martha."

"It's nice to meet you Martha," Clara said to the little girl, who gave her a big smile. Looking back at the girl's mother, Clara asked, "How do you fit into all of this, then?"

"I'm John's wife."

"It's nice of the Holmes' to invite you three for Christmas. They're kind people."

"They are. And John and Sherlock… well they're very close. That's what Christmas is all about, isn't it, spending time with the people that matter." Clara smiled, but suddenly looked sad. "And here you are, stranded. That was thoughtless of me. I'm sorry."

"Not to worry," Clara said, trying to sound cheery, "I'm sure our friend will be back soon. Now why are you ladies in here instead of with the others? Do they not want you to see what an appalling job they will make of the dishes?"

"She was nursing," Mary replied with a chuckle, "and she's suppose to be going down for a nap, but she thinks she's wide awake."

"Isn't that always the case?"

"Do you have children?"

Clara blushed, "No. But I'm a teacher, and I've been a nanny even longer than that."

They could hear the front door opening and hurried voices in the kitchen. After a moment John came into the living room, "Mary…" he looked over at Clara, clearly forgetting that she'd be there too, "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt… Mycroft's here."

Mary's whole face changed. She was about to get up, but then glanced back at Martha, "I haven't put her down yet."

Clara could sense the tension and urgency in the moment, even if she didn't know what it was about, "I could take her." Both John and Mary turned back around to look at Clara, "Getting kids to take a nap is one of my specialities."

Mary looked back at John, as if asking for his input. John hesitated, and then nodded. Mary turned back, but still didn't look quite convinced. "We were just going to go for a short walk with Sherlock and his brother," she said, clearly still weighing her options.

"Well, go on then. I might as well make myself useful and if there's any problems I'm sure the Holmes' will lend a hand." This seemed to be enough encouragement. Mary handed Clara the child, wished them both a goodbye, promised to return soon, and quickly left the room with John. Not a minute later the front door could be heard opening and shutting.

The whole house felt still and silent. Even Martha, who had been babbling at her mother, had grown quiet. Clara held the child on her lap, wondering about the strange twist her day had taken. Her contemplations were interrupted by the soft voice of Mr. Holmes, "Here you go," he placed a cup of tea on the table in front of Clara. "And not to worry, I made it myself. Sherlock had no part in it."

Clara laughed a little before taking a sip. "Does he not make good tea?"

"Let's just say there was a bit of an incident last year." He looked at Martha happily sitting on Clara's lap, "You're very good with her. A good deal better than our Sherlock, and he's her godfather. Do you and the Doctor have children?" Clara didn't have to respond that time, the look she gave Mr. Holmes was enough to set him straight, "Sorry, that's right, you're not together like that."

"Just friends."

"Not family?" he asked.

"Sort of. Not blood, mind you."

"That's alright. It's important to be with family on day's like today." Clara looked away. "What's wrong, dear?"

"It's nothing," she said, staring at the crown of Martha's head. When she looked up at Mr. Holmes she noticed he'd raised an eyebrow. "It's just Christmas," she motioned around to the decorations as best as she could without losing hold of Martha. "We were sort of going to skip it this year."

"Why?"

"Ah well, Christmas is like a year of my family in one meal. Turkey's only there to keep them from eating each other." Mr. Holmes chuckled at that, but didn't say anything. He was waiting for Clara to continue. "And last year my friend… he… well he died." She said, knowing that wasn't quite right, but having no other way to say it.

Mr. Holmes looked sympathetic, "Last year's Christmas didn't go so well here either. Some bad choices were made, and we were afraid we were going to lose Sherlock forever." It was Mr. Holmes' turn to look away, to be lost to his past. After a while he continued, "But fortunately he was returned to us. That's why they're here, all of them. That's why we get a big Christmas celebration. It's penance, I guess. But at least they're here, and they're safe. That's the funny thing about family, isn't it? Whether they're your blood or not, they can be so very different from you, and it's hard to know how you even acquired some of them, but none of that matters terribly much, they're still _yours_. No matter what." He paused again. "Truth be told, it has been a rather hard year."

Clara nodded, "It's definitely been… different. Lots of changes." Clara thought about it, "Even I've changed."

"For the better?" He asked with a smile, as if answering for her, assuming the best of everyone.

"Mostly. I've grown a lot. Which is good."

"Then why are you sad?"

Clara didn't know why she was opening up to this man, this total stranger. Maybe it just felt good to talk about these things. All the thoughts that kept her up at night. All the things she tried to deny come daybreak. She couldn't talk to the Doctor about it. She had tried before, but he would just go off on a tangent about gas giants or some such thing until she stopped. Clara could have told Danny about it, but she didn't want to worry him. "I feel like something's coming. Something bad, and I'll have to stop it and I don't know what that will mean. Last year… everything changed, and I feel like it's happening again. Like there's this big thing waiting just around the corner and I don't know what to do about it."

Mr. Holmes smiled kindly, "Maybe you don't have to do anything, not yet anyway. Maybe it can be as simple as returning to Christmas."

Clara's head shot up and she stared at him, "What?"

"Celebrating Christmas. I know it seems like a trivial thing, but when times get hard, that's when you need the people in your life the most. Never mind last year, that's over now. We don't have a time machine, we can't change what's past. But we can make a better future, eh?" Mr. Holmes stood up from the chair, "I should get back to the kitchen. The boys have left me with most of the washing up."

"Do you need any help?" Clara asked, about to rise.

"No, no. You've got your hands full here."

Mr. Holmes was almost out of the room when Clara called after him, "Thank you. For the… tea. And the…" she bit her lip.

"Anytime, dear."

**A/N** _What did Mycroft need to discuss with them? What is this strange omega radiation? Find out next time._


	3. The Ghost of Christmas Past

"Sherlock, I think that's far enough." Sherlock made no response; he didn't so much as slow his pace. John tried again, "We all know the danger. That's why the four of us could never discuss this in the city, but we must be two miles from the nearest house. Who's going to be listening to us out here?"

Sherlock whirled around, "That is the question. Well, brother, do you have an answer?"

Mycroft made the pretence of looking around, "This place should be safe enough, if in fact any place still is."

"That sounds ominous." Mary said, folding her arms across her chest. "Is it true then? Is he back?"

"We don't know." Mycroft answered.

"But he can't be back," John insisted. "I don't care how brilliant someone is, you can't cheat death."

"I did."

"You didn't have a bullet in your brain!" John glanced around him at the trees and then lowered his voice. "You saw him do it, Sherlock. And I saw the body. He couldn't have faked it. Jim Moriarty is dead! So whatever this is, it's not him."

"What is _it_?" Mary asked Mycroft.

"Some of the most intricate and specific security breaches we have ever seen. In all cases there was no forced entry, no trace of how the perpetrator hacked our systems, not even an attempt to cover their tracks. We merely find files open."

"What sort of files?"

"All sorts," Mycroft responded in the false casual way of his. "From the seemingly trivial to beyond top secret. Everything from personal records to nuclear detonation codes."

"Who's personal records were accessed?" Mary asked. She was the only one of them who had never encountered Moriarty and as such, she knew it would be her responsibility to remain logical and keep some perspective.

"Well ours of course," Sherlock said dismissively.

"Yes," Mycroft confirmed. "The four of us, along with our parents and extended family, as well as a handful of others including Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade and Ir… the woman."

"Did he access my past?" Mary asked, fear beginning to show through her forced calm.

"Thankfully no. But then you have done an excellent job of keeping that to yourself, Magnussen notwithstanding."

"Moriarty doesn't care who you used to be, it's who you are now that matters," Sherlock said, pointing to her wedding ring.

"And this is why you think it's him? Because someone looked up information about us?" John by no means looked convinced. "Because if that's it—"

"That's not all, John."

"Okay Sherlock, then tell me, tell me why we should believe that he's somehow returned from the grave."

"Because the rats are scurrying again."

John rolled his eyes and tried to release some of his nervous energy by pacing. "He's dead, Sherlock. He has to be dead."

"Then why is his network up and running?" Sherlock queried. "It took me two years to dismantle it and now, less than a year after his message, it's larger than ever before."

"And no one could do that but him?" Mary tried to return the conversation to a more even tone.

"No," Sherlock replied matter-of-factly.

"You could," John argued, "or Mycroft."

"But we didn't," Mycroft responded in his patronizing way.

"But if you could do it then there could be others."

"Not many."

"But some," John continued. "You lot aren't as special as you think."

"But who else would care so much about us?"

"Plenty of other people don't like you."

"Yes, but not many, I should think, that would also contemplate ending the world."

"So why hasn't he?" Mary asked, trying to steer the conversation back to more useful topics. "Whether it's Moriarty or someone else, why show his hand like this? Show what's he's capable of without following through."

"Because it's a game!" Sherlock said in exasperation. "What would be the fun of ending the world if he couldn't make us all dance first?"

"You think he'll come for us?"

"Perhaps he's already on his way."

"But not him though," Mary confirmed. She turned to Mycroft, "No one has seen him, isn't that right—"

"There's nothing to see!" John yelled.

"—him or anyone else? In all the cases there isn't footage of anyone?"

"No."

"And it's always technology that is disrupted?"

"Every time."

"Technology can't get us out here. Not unless he sends a rocket, and Sherlock's right, that's not nearly personal enough." Sherlock nodded once. "But he probably won't also come in person, whoever it is. He'd send someone, wouldn't he? But not one of his network, not someone either of you would recognize or suspect. He'd send someone different, someone like—"

"A strange couple stranded on Christmas Eve?" Sherlock finished, reaching the same conclusion.

"Who you left with our parents."

"And our daughter," Mary said in terror. She took off at a sprint through the trees. The three men followed close behind her.

* * *

"So what is it, exactly, this Omega radiation?" Mrs. Holmes asked, looking up from the yellow legal pad in front of her.

The Doctor sat on the floor pouring over his data, "Will that affect your calculations?"

"I guess I'm just curious why you're so interested in it. My boys can get rather obsessed with odd things too, but there is always a reason, even if I don't understand it. What is your reason Doctor Smith? Is this radiation harmful?"

"Shouldn't be."

Mrs. Holmes set her pencil down. "But?" she asked, using an unmistakably mothering tone.

"But…" the Doctor set down his pen as well, "its presence on its own isn't harmful, but neither is it random. Whatever or whoever is causing it to appear may have a less than pleasant intention. That's what I must determine, and that's why we have to figure out where it goes and what connects those places."

Mrs. Holmes stared at him for a moment longer, "You're very much like my boys, aren't you?"

"I don't know, are they vastly intelligent?"

"They like to think so," Mrs. Holmes replied with a chuckle before returning to the work in front of her.

The room grew silent for a long while. It was Mrs. Holmes who broke the silence first, "51.5233° N, 0.1583° W."

"What's that?" the Doctor asked, only half listening.

"That's where your radiation has spent the majority of its time. Where do you suppose that is?"

"Well it's…" the Doctor stared off into space for a moment, "221—"

"221 Baker's Street, London," Mrs. Holmes said, nervously.

"How'd you know…?" the Doctor looked up and saw the tablet in her hand, "Of course, _Google,_" he said with minor annoyance. He hated things that got in the way of him looking clever. That's when he noticed how rigidly Mrs. Holmes was sitting. "What's wrong with your face? You're all eyes and sweat."

"Sherlock…"

"What about him?"

"It's his—"

"Mother!" a loud shout came from downstairs.

"We have to go tell him," Mrs. Holmes said, as she raced out of the room. The Doctor tried to keep up, but Mrs. Holmes moved surprisingly fast. He could hear her up ahead, "Sherlock, there's something we have to tell— Oh dear God, what is that?"

The Doctor made it to the bottom of the stairs and was greeted with a gun.

"Sherlock, what are you doing? Put that down this second."

"Don't worry, Mother. We have everything under control."

"This is just like last year," she cried.

"I promise you, it's not," Mycroft said, almost kindly. "Now where is the other one, the young lady?"

Mr. Holmes looked shell shocked. He pointed to the living room, but said nothing.

"You first, Doctor Smith," Sherlock raised the revolver until it was directly inline with his head.

"I really don't like guns," the Doctor said, almost indifferently. He looked Sherlock directly in the eye and did not budge.

At that moment the door behind them opened, "What's with all the shouting?" Clara asked, before Mary raised a gun and pointed it at her.

"Mrs. Holmes, would you and Mr. Holmes please take Martha upstairs?" Mary asked, never once taking her eyes off Clara.

"And lock the door behind you," Sherlock added, "We have some questions for our guests."

**A/N** _I know it's a little short, but who could resist a cliffhanger? _


	4. Wrong, But Not Paranoid

**A/N** _Sorry for the delay. This one is a little short, but I'm nearly through the next chapter and should have it up soon. There maybe lulls in updates but I will definitely finish this story. Thanks for reading (and putting up with me). _

* * *

No amount of Christmas decorations could ease the tension that permeated the living room. Clara and the Doctor stood in the centre of the room, despite having been told to sit down. Sherlock, Mycroft, John and Mary stood in a wide circle around them, still with weapons raised. The Doctor stared at them without fear, a mixture of contempt and boredom on his face. Clara was afraid, but she did her best to push it side and play the part of the Doctor. Why be scared when you could be snarky and clever?

John broke the silence, "Why did you come here?"

"Wrong question. Lots of questions to ask. Ones you really should ask, but not that one. No use at all. And besides, we've already given you that answer."

"Right, your friend left you here. Now why would he do a thing like that?" Mycroft asked, with an air of superiority.

"You'd have to ask him," Clara responded, matching the Doctor's disdain. He shot her a quick smile before glaring back at their captors.

"What business do you have in this neighbourhood?" Mary asked.

"None, we were just on our way to drop her boyfriend off with his family."

"And they live...?"

"In Calgary," the Doctor answered truthfully.

"We were taking him to the airport," Clara added.

"Then why were you out of the car?"

The Doctor nearly smiled at Mary, "Better question. Still not convinced you lot are as clever as Mrs. Holmes seems to think, but you are making some progress, aren't they Clara? She's a teacher, you know. She's use to all this encouraging nonsense. Gifted and talented, isn't that what you tell the kids?"

"If it's a good question, what's the answer?" John prompted.

"Didn't say good, I said better. But fine then, if you like, we were investigating."

"Us?"

The Doctor threw his arms up in frustration, "No, not you. You narcissistic pudding brains."

"Then why this house, why did you come here?" John asked, fighting to control his temper.

"It's where the investigation led," the Doctor said cryptically, staring John down, his eyebrows drawn together and rearing for a fight.

"Who sent you?" Mycroft chimed in.

The Doctor looked over at Clara in frustration. Clara shrugged, "Don't listen much, do they?" She asked with a smile. It was an old trick of theirs, one they weren't consciously aware of, to use banter as a shield.

"No one sent us," the Doctor's tone did nothing to hide his contempt. "What makes you lot so special anyway? Why would anyone care?"

"You expect me to believe you don't know who we are?" Mycroft asked with condescension.

"Knew your mother. Don't have a clue about the rest of you."

"You're a liar."

"Yes I am!" The Doctor announced proudly, "But this time I'm telling the truth."

"I have a question." It was the first thing Sherlock had said since they led the Doctor and Clara out of the hall. He had been watching the two of them carefully, trying to gleam answers from the strange pair. Clara was in her late twenties. She dressed very fashionably and clearly put a great deal of care into her outfit, and yet her clothing was flexible and her shoes, while trendy, where flat and well worn. She was practical. Or whatever she was up to required a wide range of mobility. She took charge, but was also caring. She certainly seemed to keep an eye on her companion, making sure he was alright, and in the kitchen before, jumping into conversation to act like his translator. _A teacher_. Sherlock didn't think Doctor Smith was lying about that. That didn't preclude her from being an assassin, but it did cast some doubt. And what of the man? Older than her, fifty at least, and perhaps older still. There was a weariness and impatience about him that suggested a long life spent with people he deemed inferior. He wore a white collared shirt and strange, navy suit. Minimalistic except for the flashy red underside. A strange choice for a car trip and yet the Doctor wore it as if it was a second skin. It was clean, a part from some minor chalk dust. _A teacher as well? _Unlikely. He clearly didn't have the patience for it. A professor perhaps. Megalomania fit in well among their ranks. He didn't wear a watch, or appear to have a phone or any other device. He was a man of few responsibilities and commitments. At least few that involved a strict adherence to time. He wore a wedding ring. A token to someone gone. If it was part of the deception they would have been sure to mentioned a spouse and if he was currently married they would have used that to justify their own status when mistaken as a couple earlier. But if not a couple, who were they to each other? Not lovers, at least not currently. Not family, in a genetic sense, but close. Bonded together. You could see it a mile off, the looks that passed between them. The trust they placed in each other. If they had been sent by Moriarty they had not been thrown together for this _assignment_. Whoever it is they were and whatever their true motives, one think was clear, they were partners. That and rather hard to read, even for Sherlock. So he watched and listened. They didn't appear to be armed. Both of them wore clothing too fitted to conceal most kinds of weapons. Clara was scared, but also brave, and neither of them acted in any way guilty. Sherlock didn't believe that they were 'abounded' here, but he would wager that everything else they had said was the truth. They knew more than they had said, but Sherlock was growing certain they were not a threat. "What where you calculating with Mother?"

The Doctor considered him for a long moment before responding. "An even better question."

"And the answer is?" John asked impatiently.

The Doctor never took his eyes off of Sherlock, "You live at 221 Bakers Street, don't you?"

The room became very still. Clara gave the Doctor a _I hope you know what you're doing_ look.

"How did you know that?"

"Your mother told me, but that's beside the point," the Doctor said with a flourish of his hands. "Most people don't question guests at gun point. Especially not at Christmas. But your not paranoid, are you? Someone's been following you four, watching you. You're being threaten. So you assumed it was us. Wrong by the way. But then you're only human. We're not the thing following you, but I think that the same thing we are investigating is what's been keeping taps on you."

"I don't understand," Mary said, before one of the men expressed that sentiment in a less helpful way.

The Doctor looked at Clara, his face a question: _What should I say? _She shrugged, _The truth. _

"Truth it is. And the truth is that I am a time traveling alien, Clara really is a school teacher, and we've been investigating Omega radiation, which is really quite ordinary except your planet hasn't discovered it yet. And, oh yeah, it appears to be following you around."

"This is mad," John said, "you really expect us to believe you're an—"

John was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Danny Pink as he was propelled into the room, seemingly out of thin air. "I am never going in that box again!" All eyes turned towards him and he became acutely aware of the guns. "Who are these people? What's going on?" He was standing beside Clara, trying to determine how best to protect her if their captors opened fire. The four strangers looked between him and where he had come from. It looked like a disturbance in space, as if an unseen door had opened up to a large room, one too big to fit into the small living room, and yet unmistakably there. In their wonder it took them a moment to realize the Doctor was headed right for it.

"Stop Doctor Smith."

"It's just 'the Doctor'. And no. Shoot me if you want, but if I don't turn off the navigation controls she'll fly away again." He walked right through the _disturbance_ and into the strange room, calling over his shoulder, "Might as well get inside, easier to explain it to you pudding brains from in here."


	5. The Delivery

Clara followed the Doctor into the TARDIS, hand in hand with a reluctant Danny. After a moment's pause Sherlock, John, Mary, and Mycroft walked through the disturbance into the large, and rather intimidating console room. They stared around in amazement, comprehending little. "It's..." John began, words failing him.

"Yes, yes," the Doctor vaguely acknowledged from the control panel, "it's—"

"A spaceship," Sherlock stated.

"Brilliant powers of deductions." The Doctor flipped a few switches and began to stare intently at the screen.

"Doctor, why is she invisible?" Clara asked.

"She was being nice, I should think." Clara raised an eyebrow. "Looking out for your boyfriend."

"She nearly got me arrested. Or killed. The places she went..."

"Yes, where did you go?" The Doctor addressed the console, trying his best to ignore Danny, who answered anyway.

"All over, but plenty places I shouldn't have been. Banks, prisons, Buckingham Palace, 10 Downing Street, and a whole host of others that looked more than top secret."

The Doctor didn't so much as acknowledge Danny. He glanced between the screen and his new _guests_ standing uncomfortably by the door, before reading off the information, "Tower of London, Saint Bartholomew's Hospital, Metropolitan Police Service, MI 5, Regent Park Clinic, and of course Baker's Street. What do all of these have in common?"

"Us," Mycroft said, without any of his usual smugness.

"Like I said, you're not paranoid. Wrong, but not paranoid. You are being followed, just not by us."

"Is it this radiation thing, then?" Mary asked, slipping her gun into it's holster, hidden under her seasonal blazer.

"Omega radiation, yes," the Doctor corrected.

"But what is it?" John's patience was wearing thin, "What does it do? Who's behind it?"

"You tell me. There's no way any of you could detect this, and yet you've somehow sensed you were being monitored. What or who do you think it is?"

"Moriarty."

"It's not Moriarty. It can't be."

"Why not?" The Doctor asked.

"He's dead," John said, sounding less certain than he would have liked.

"Could this radiation be a dead person? A ghost or something?" Mary asked.

"Don't be ridiculous," Mycroft said dismissively.

"We're on a spaceship talking to an alien, don't know if anything is too ridiculous anymore." Mary addressed the Doctor, "Could it be him?"

"I don't know. There's no such thing as ghosts, per say, but plenty of other phenomena that have been mistaken for them in the past."

"So we should investigate." The Doctor looked over at Clara. "If the TARDIS brought Danny here, it's because the omega radiation is here as well. We should take readings, try to find where it's coming from, maybe even what it is. At the very least, sonic it."

The Doctor smiled at her, "You do make an exceptional Doctor, Clara. You heard the lady, we've got work to do."

They filed out of the TARDIS in ones and twos, engulfed in a thoughtful silence. The group stopped in a clump just outside the door, someone new was in the room. The man wore a blue, polyester uniform and carried a large package in his arms. The group watched him with uncertainty and suspicion, all except Sherlock, who dismissively said, "Don't you people knock?"

The deliveryman gave no answer. He dropped the package, raised a gun, and fired.

Had they all worked together, this collection of incredibly clever individuals, everyone could have been spared. If they could have worked en mass, or perhaps even if they had only acted in self preservation no one would have been hurt. But there was no time to discuss it, there was only the sight of the gun and a single moment in which to move, and in that moment everyone behaved exactly as they always did. Mycroft got out his phone to call for 'assistance'. Sherlock made a wise crack about the gun being too low for the shot to be fatal. John pulled Sherlock out of the way while also putting his body in front of Mary. Guessing he would do that, Mary grabbed Sherlock as well, speeding him away from the bullet's most likely trajectory. Danny reached out for Clara, only to discover she was too far away. The Doctor took a step into the bullet's path, knowing it would do him less damage than a human (even if it happened to be a fatal shot). And Clara stepped in front of him, having never learned to ignore that little voice in her head that said she _must protect the Doctor_. The gunman fired without adjusting for the changes. A single bullet flew towards the frenzied crowd, hitting Clara in the shoulder. She sank to the ground like dead weight.

The Doctor dropped to his knees and cradled her limb body, barely conscious of the activity around him. The events that followed: the perpetrator dropping his gun and reaching for another, John and Sherlock apprehending him, even Danny's panic cried of "Oh God"; did not reach the Doctor, his thoughts were all consumed by Clara. He checked the wound, then held her wrist, searching for a nonexistent pulse. "This isn't a fatal wound, Clara." He said to her in confusion bordering on annoyance (which merely served to hide his panic). "Shoulders may hurt, but they can't kill you. So you can't be dead." He was yelling now, "You hear that, Clara? You can't be dead!"

"Get away from her!"

The Doctor looked confused to find Danny standing beside him, as if he had forgotten there was anyone in the room aside from Clara. He glanced over at the others, John and Sherlock were tying the assailant to a chair, while Mary pointed a gun at him, and Mycroft examined the gun he had discarded. The Doctor turned away, his features cold and unreadable.

He dropped Clara's lifeless body, walked over to the group, and with speed none of them expected him to possess, he took the gun out of Mary's hand and shot the killer through the shoulder. Mycroft immediately restrained him. "You see that, Clara? That wound doesn't kill you. It may hurt," he looked at the man with disgust, "But you survive." The gunman was biting his lip, trying his best not to cry out in pain, "Now kneecaps," the Doctor broke free from Mycroft, took back the gun, and shot the man in the left knee, "They are a good deal more painful. But still not fatal." Now John joined Mycroft in subduing the Doctor.

"You're mad!" the gunman cried out, his wet eyes darting between the others, looking for someone who would protect him.

The Doctor's eyes narrowed, and he addressed the gunman for the first time, "Yes I am. So you are going to answer every question asked of you or I will show you how many places you can be shot without dying."

The Doctor's body went slack and John let go of him. "It doesn't help us if he goes into shock," he said, as he fetched some cloth to put pressure on the wounds.

"He won't," the Doctor said, never taking his eyes off of the man. "He wouldn't want to let himself lose consciousness while I'm here."

With his threat still hanging in the air the Doctor took a step back, as if the business at hand no longer concerned him. His eyes, however, remained on the gunman, never once looking back at Danny's grief or Clara's body.

"Why did you come here?" Sherlock asked the bound man.

"I was sent to shoot you."

"By who?"

The man looked around frantically, as if imploring them not to make him answer. Finally his eyes met the Doctor's and he immediately complied, "Moriarty."

"You saw him then? He spoke to you?" Mycroft asked.

The man laughed bitterly, "That's not how it works. You get a message."

"Then how do you know it was him?"

"You always know," he nearly shouted through gritted teeth, as the pain flared up in his knee. "And you don't get a choice. He has ways to make you do what he wants."

"And he wanted me dead?" This actually surprised Sherlock. He knew Moriarty was capable of anything, and figured he would try to kill him eventually, but not now, not before the game had really begun.

"He didn't want me to kill you, just to shoot you. I was told to avoid the head and all major organs."

"But it killed her anyway," the Doctor blurted out. He glanced back at Clara's body and immediately regretted it.

"What about the rest of us?" John asked, "What were you instructed to do to us?"

"Nothing. I was told to leave you alone; do you no harm."

"Then why the second gun?" Mary pointed out.

"The first only had one bullet in it," Mycroft added. "Why?"

"I was sent that gun, he said that was the one I had to use on Sherlock."

"And the other?"

"That was for me." The man hung his head. His hands were balled up in fists, fighting with the pain.

"So you've failed in every part of your mission, then?" The Doctor said bitterly.

The man tried to raise his head to respond, but it lulled back against his chest. John looked up at the Doctor instead, "Do you have any medical equipment on that ship of yours? We're not going to get much more out of him if we don't stop this bleeding."

"Him?" Danny was immediately on his feet, "You want to save him?"

"He's of use," the Doctor said dismissively, never once looking at Danny.

"And what about Clara? Is she not useful anymore?"

"She's dead."

"You must have something on that ship—"

"I don't."

"Then take her somewhere. You can go anywhere. There must be some place in the whole history of the universe that can help her."

The Doctor spun around and stared Danny down, "She's dead! You can't help that. Can't fix that. She's just dead!"

"Then change it."

"Change?" The Doctor laughed again.

"Change time. Don't bring her here. Or don't pick her up today. Or better yet, don't meet her at all!"

"No." They were in each other's face now, almost nose to nose.

"You've got a time machine, you can do it."

"No."

"I believe the Doctor is telling the truth," Sherlock ventured. "He couldn't go back now, not within his own timeline, that would be a paradox."

"I don't care," Danny stated. "I don't care about paradoxes or timelines or the universe. I just want her back." The Doctor turned around and began walking away. "She would do it for you!" Danny shouted after him.

"'Course she would. She'd do anything for me." The Doctor said it like a taunt. "Look where it got her." He nodded in Clara's direction, but still didn't look; there was only so much heartbreak he could endure.


	6. Just See Me

**A/N **_Sorry for the uber delay and thank you for the reviews and kind words. Just a few more chapters to go. _

"Doctor."

The Doctor walked over to the assailant to assess his wounds.

"Doctor!"

His eyes quickly scanned the man's body. "I'll see what I can do about the bleeding."

"You can't see me. Why can't you see me?"

The Doctor walked towards the TARDIS.

"Please, just see me." Clara ran and blocked his path. "Please, Doctor."

He passed right through her. For a moment it felt like Clara was being thrown in every direction, and then she was whole again. That is to say, she felt 'whole'. But she wasn't really. She couldn't be. She reached out for the TARDIS door, but again felt that strange shifting feeling, as if her fingers were being diverted by the door instead of coming in contact with it. She turned around and stared at the group. She had thought that if anyone would know she was there it would be the Doctor, he had to know something was off, that she wasn't really dead. But he didn't see her. He couldn't hear her, and she knew he wasn't pretending. It was the way he didn't look at her body. If he had thought there was any way to save her, even the slightest, most improbable chance, he would be exploring it. The fact that he simply stared in the opposite direction meant he had given up. _It meant that she was dead_. Clara must have died millions of times, but that knowledge gave her no comfort. She looked down at her limp body, trying desperately to understand what had happening, and in doing so caught a glimpse of Danny instead. He looked so desperately sad. All Clara wanted to do was comfort him. "Danny, I'm here. Can you see me?"

"Oh you're not going to start that again, are you?"

Clara looked up and for the first time noticed a small man in a tailored black suit standing at the back of the room. Clara glanced around, but none of the others had so much as moved at the sound of his voice. "You can see me? Who are you?"

"That's a secret," he put his finger to his lips theatrically. No one else in the room was diverted from their task.

"They can't see you either."

"No, but then they don't see much, do they? These wonderful, clever people."

"Why can't they see us?"

"Let's just say we're not part of the visible spectrum anymore." Clara's eyes went wide with confusion and fear. "We're ghosts," he added an eerie 'oOo'. "Thought that would have been obvious."

Clara considered his words for a moment, before shaking her head, "No we're not. You said it before, _'visible spectrum'_... We're omega radiation."

"Is that what you call it?" The man actually laughed, "I was just calling it 'energy', but 'omega radiation', I like that, it's very final. Suppose it's fitting that I should be the _last_."

"Your him, the man they think is dead. Moriarty."

"Hello," his voice had an unnerving sing-song quality to it and he gave a little wave.

Clara suppressed a shudder, "How did you do it?"

"Come now, do I really have to explain it? Aren't you at least going to try and figure it out yourself?"

"The gun. Or the bullet. That's why there was only one. Couldn't have been human technology. How did you know what it would do?"

"I heard rumors. Did a few test runs. It's always good to have an exit strategy. Although that's not really your thing, is it? Marching in after that doctor, shielding him with yourself. All or nothing. It's admirable. Foolish and, let's face it, fatal, but admirable. Did you see that?"

"What?" Clara glanced around.

"Your young man, he took a picture of your body. Something to remember you by."

No one in the room was paying attention to Danny. Clara watched him snap a picture of her killer, pocket the phone, and walk silently to the door. No one even looked up.

"Where do you suppose he's going?"

"Trying to do the right thing. He's a good man."

"Is _he_?"

Clara was about to respond until she noticed Moriarty was no longer talking about Danny, instead he was eyeing the Doctor, who had just emerged from the TARDIS. Clara watched him too. He crossed the room in a few large strides, his face a mask of contemptuous indifference. He showed John how to use the handheld, medical device, and then took up his former place away from the group.

"I think I hurt his feelings," Moriarty said in a baby voice. "Poor little Doctor."

"Why did you do this?"

"Because it's fun."

"But... the gunman was aiming at Sherlock. You wanted this to happen to him."

"I wanted some company. It gets so lonely being the only one." The mock sadness in his voice only cut deeper as Clara stared at the Doctor. He shouldn't be alone. Not like this.

"Doctor, I'm alive. I'm right here!"

"He can't hear you."

"No," Clara's mind was racing through everything she had heard that day, "but I can send him a message." She reached for a smart phone on the table, but couldn't make contact. Her fingers appeared to be reflected by the surface. There was an old desktop computer in the corner, she moved her hands over every part of it, but to no avail.

"That's not going to work."

"Why not? It worked for you. You've sent messages—"

"It takes time. Took me two years to learn how to interact with technology. And I'm smarter than you."

"I'm a quick study."

"Not quick enough." Clara gave him an inquisitive look. "Lots to do, can't hang around here all day. Goodbye."

Clara opened her mouth to respond, but the assailant's voice caught her attention. "I don't know anything about nuclear weapons! Why would he tell me that?"

"He has access?" the Doctor asked Mycroft.

"He appears to have access to everything. The detonation codes where just one of the many _treasures_ he was taunting us with."

"Would he use them?"

Clara glanced between all of the somber faces. It was Mycroft who responded, "Yes, I believe he would."

Clara looked back, but Moriarty was gone. Something very bad was coming. The Doctor looked like he could feel it too. He raised himself to his full height and said, "Everyone, in the TARDIS, now." Sherlock and John bent down to pick up the bound man. "Leave him," the Doctor called impatiently.

"In a house with our families? Don't think so." John gagged the man, and together with Sherlock, picked up the chair he was tied to and carried him inside the TARDIS. Mary and Mycroft followed quickly behind them. The Doctor was bringing up the rear when he suddenly diverted from his path and walked over to Clara's body. He picked her up gently, cradling her to him. His resolve was slipping, the anger burning in his eyes no longer concealed his grief. It broke Clara's heart, but she turned away from him. She didn't have time to lose herself to emotions, she would only get on chance to board the TARDIS. Clara slipped into the opened door just before the Doctor did.

The Doctor set Clara down on his favourite chair and immediately moved towards the console. With a few quick motions he sent the TARDIS into the time vortex.

"What are you doing?" Mary asked.

"Buying us time. Or, more accurately, removing us from it."

"How does that help?" John asked with a note of panic, he clearly would rather remained _in_ time.

"If we're outside of time and can return to the very moment we let, time has effectively stopped relative to us," Sherlock's tone suggested it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Clara listened to the conversation, but her attention was directed elsewhere. It may have taken Moriarty two years to manipulate technology, but he didn't have a TARDIS. Clara still wasn't able to make contact with anything, but that wasn't the only way to interact. "Hello?" She began tentatively. "Hi, um, Sexy?" It felt weird calling her that, but Clara was a little out of her depth and was trying for the personal touch. "You can see me, can't you? I mean you can detect omega radiation, so you know I'm here, right?" A light flashed once on the console. It may have had nothing to do with her, but Clara decided to take it as a good sign. "Great. Could you help me speak to the Doctor? Or maybe help them see me?"

"Now you four need to figure out what this Moriarty fellow, or whoever it is, will do next." The Doctor commanded.

"How do we do that?" John was growing tired of the Doctor's tone.

"Do I have to have to do..." Their horrified expressions stopped the Doctor mid sentence. He followed their gaze and saw Clara standing behind him. For a single moment he honestly believed it was her. And then he noticed her hair, long and swept off her face, her clothing a short, blue dress and jacket. She wasn't his Clara, she was an old image, a projection. He looked back and saw Clara's body still slumped on the chair. "Don't do that. Don't you dare do that." The voice visual interface looked almost confused. It opened its mouth, but did not speak. "Change! Change into anyone. Anything. Just don't be her!"

"It's me," the projection said at last. The Doctor stared at it, eyebrows raised, a look akin to terror on his face. "Doctor, it's me," the voice was insistent and reassuring at the same time, so unlike the usual monotone of the voice interface.

"No," the Doctor didn't dare believe it. "No you're... She's dead. Clara's dead." He glanced at her body, as if for conformation. "It's impossible."

"Well, I am the impossible girl, after all."


	7. How Bad Could it Be?

**A/N **_Hello again, dear readers. I imagine you thought I'd forgotten about you, and you'd be right to think that. Two months is a rather inexcusable delay. That wasn't the intention, but life has a habit of getting away from me. I am back now, and hope to be more consistent. I promise you an ending, which will only be about three chapters away. So hang in there, if you can. Won't be long now. The game is really afoot. Thanks, as always, for reading. I hope you enjoy. _

**Chapter 7 - How Bad Could it Be?**

The Doctor stared at Clara, his eyes making a thorough survey of her face. But then it wasn't really her face, it was a projection. If this was really her, if she was really here, then she was wearing her own face as a mask. How old was she then, 24? A nanny who'd jumped into his snog box. Her youth shamed him. Had she really been that young? He glanced down at her blue dress and jacket, the same outfit she had worn at the Caliburn House. So very long ago. They had only just met. Even so she had convinced the TARDIS to go after him, while knowing the odds were definitely _not_ in her favour. Clara, Clara, Clara. Of all of his companions she should have been the one most likely to survive him. She had been sensible, she had kept her life on Earth and made time for _him_. One day a week. The Doctor on someone else's schedule—any schedule for that matter—it was unthinkable. But like a puppy he followed her lead. A control freak and a man who couldn't be controlled, they shouldn't work, but they did. Too well. He should have let her go long before this. She had a whole life without him, she would be fine. He should have let the moon be the end of them. If he had, he could have save her from this. He knew it would end this way, with her sacrifice. Millions of Clara's had done the same. She liked to say she was 'born to save the Doctor.' He never corrected her, never reminded her that while her echoes may have been born for that fate, for Clara Oswald, the _real_ Clara Oswald, it had always been a choice. The trouble was, she always chose him. He knew that, and he could have saved her, he could have let her go, but he was a foolish, selfish old man, and he wanted his Impossible Girl at his side. His self loathing, coupled with his grief, drew him further into despair. This was his fault. He had failed her and now she was lost.

"Doctor!?"

Her voice called him out of himself. She was here. She was real. He would work the rest of later. "Yes, Clara?"

A wide grin spread across the projection's face at finally being seen and acknowledged. The grin was short lived, "We have a problem."

"Just one?" he asked, snidely.

"Quite a few, actually, but best if we break them down one by one."

"I'm sorry, but... aren't you dead?" John asked, seeming to speak on behalf of his equally stunned companions.

"That's a good question. One of our 'problems' really, but not the most pressing. Basically I'm omega radiation. I'm sort of non-corporeal, but the TARDIS is helping you see me."

"The gun..." The Doctor began.

"Wasn't your average gun."

"How do you know—" Mycroft began.

"Your old friend Moriarty told me. He's radiation too. He's what's been following you. He was with us in the living room, but he's gone now. Not sure where."

"He really did find a way to cheat death," Mary observed.

"Clara," the Doctor asked, "did he mention what he was planning? Let anything slip about what he was going to do next?"

"You mean, did he twirl his moustache and reveal his entire plan? Not so much."

"What did he say?" Sherlock demanded.

"He said he did it because it was fun. And that he wanted you like this because he was lonely. And when I was trying to figure out how to communicate with all of you, he said there wouldn't be time. Then he left."

"You four, figure out where he'll be next," the Doctor commanded.

"And then what?" John asked in frustration.

"We'll land there."

"And what are we suppose to do once we get there?" Mycroft inquired.

"A thing," Clara said with a cheeky grin, "we're great at things."

* * *

They worked tirelessly for a long while, sometimes loudly debating, other times with their heads bowed in thought. Only the Doctor remained aloof, staring intently at his screens, doing his best to ignore everyone else, including Clara.

"So, what do you think?" she asked him at last, growing tired of being kept out of the loop.

"I'm working that out now," he answered simply, his eyes remaining on the screens.

"You must have something—"

"I don't," he said curtly, never once looking at her.

"Clara," Mary called, "Did it sound like Moriarty could do this again? Do you think he had other guns like that?"

"He's done it before, so I'd imagine so." Clara couldn't help but juxtapose the Doctor's reaction to her with that of the others'. They should be the uncomfortable ones, she was little more than a sciency ghost. They should be weary of her and yet they behaved as if she was whole, as if nothing had happened, while the Doctor... Why was he so bothered by this? Was it because he didn't know what to do or because he knew he couldn't save her? Clara did her best to push that thought out of her head and focus on the task at hand.

"The question really is," Mary continued, "will Moriarty go after Sherlock again before completing whatever catastrophe he has in mind?"

"And," Clara added, "does our being here change his plans?"

John looked confused, "You think—"

"That the presence of an alien with a time machine might have an impact on what he might do?" Sherlock was all sarcasm and superiority, "I would think so, yes."

"Does he know what the Doctor is?" Mycroft asked.

"I don't know. I couldn't see him until I was shot, who knows what he heard before that."

"So we assume he knows enough," Mary looked worried as she said it.

"We can also assume that he knows we know more than he would have liked."

"He won't know I can communicate with you," Clara pointed out.

"But with access to a space ship there are all sorts of things we _could _discover."

John's patience had all but expired, "We're talking ourselves in circles. Who cares what he may know, what matters is what he'll do next. What we need to figure out is what he wants. That's Moriarty, through and through. Just a mad man satisfying his own whims and desires."

"So what does he want most?" Clara asked.

Everyone looked at Sherlock. "To beat me. To win."

"What does that look like?"

The room went silent, each person trying to work out an answer. Clara was getting antsy. It seemed the Doctor had rubbed off on her, she could no longer stay in one place for long, particularly when the conversation itself was so stuck in a groove. She moved around the control room, barely looking at her surroundings, her attention focused inwards, until she found herself at the base of a staircase, looking up at an empty chair. "Where did I go?" Several of the party glanced over at Clara, not quite catching her meaning. "My body, it's gone."

This time the Doctor looked up as well, "What do you mean, 'gone'?" He was walking over to her, his current task instantly forgotten.

"Not too many meanings to the word 'gone'." Clara scanned the room as if her body had simply been moved without their knowledge.

"But you can't be gone," the Doctor's eyes made a similar sweep, moving his head at a frantic pace.

"Could the ship have moved her?"

"No," the Doctor barely acknowledged John's remark. He had ascended the stairs and now placed a cautious hand on the chair, as if he could derive an answer by touch alone.

"Is she better then, Doctor? Has Clara somehow been healed?" Mary asked.

"Don't see how," Clara replied, "if my mind's still here." Suddenly Clara's eyes went wide, "It's Moriarty!" Everyone stared at her. Clara turned her attention to the Doctor, "If that gun kicked me out of my own head, would it leave a vacancy, one that could be entered by a similar consciousness?"

The Doctor's mind was far away considering all of this. "Possibly," he said at last, still not looking at her.

"You're saying Moriarty has taken over your body?" John asked, skeptically.

"Of course!" Sherlock proclaimed.

"Not you too..."

"That would explain why the gunman was instructed to avoid the head and all major organs."

"He wanted your body preserved," Mary nearly shuttered at the idea.

"Moriarty asn't going to make the same mistake as last time and leave him without a body to return to," Mycroft said, by way of agreement.

"This is mad," John looked between each of them, expecting to find dissent, "you really believe that's possible?"

"Is it any stranger than anything else we've seen today?" Sherlock asked. "And this way he gets what he always wanted, me entirely helpless while he—"

"Destroys everything you care about," John finished, understanding at last.

"And everyone," Mary added. "That's why the rest if us were spared, he wanted to do it."

"While wearing my face."

"He's really like that?" Clara asked, not wanting it to be true.

"No," Sherlock looked her dead in the eye, "he's much worse."

"We have to stop him."

"Obviously."

"I meant soon. A man like that should not be on this ship." It was at that moment Clara realized how quiet the Doctor had been. She turned towards him and found him lost in thought, his hand still resting on the chair. "Doctor. How do we stop him?"

He straightened his back, rose to his full height, and turned towards them, his face a mask of control, "We have to find him first. That is to say, Clara can find him."

"Doesn't this ship have sensors or something?"

"Clara knows what to look for and she's the only one of us who can move at the speed of light." He turned his attention to her, "He won't be able to see you, take some time to observe him, see if you can determine his next move."

Clara nodded and then promptly disappeared.

"What are we to do about Moriarty?" Mycroft asked as he checked the rounds in his magazine.

"Well, we're not going to shoot him, you trigger happy pudding-brain. Guns on a spaceship, are you lot really that stupid."

"If it was in the heart of the ship it might not breach the haul."

"No, it might just piss her off, and you don't want this ship mad at you, believe me."

"What do you suggest?"

The Doctor's face looked grave for a moment, and then he was pushing past them, making his way under the console. The group followed in his wake. He tore through compartments until he found the objects in question: two large futuristic rifles. He tossed one to Mary and kept the other for himself. "As a last resort." Sherlock and Mycroft were nodding in agreement, but Mary and John looked uncertain.

"Doctor," Mary ventured, "It's still Clara's body. If we do this, what will happen to her?"

When the Doctor didn't reply, John emphatically added, "We can't just shoot her."

"I should be the one to do it. But if for some reason I can't," he looked imploringly at Mary. "That man cannot have access to this ship."

Clara appeared in front of them, then. She took in the weapons in a single glance, "Good idea. But they won't do the trick."

The Doctor looked between the guns and Clara incredulously, "These things can stun a dinosaur."

"Trust me Doctor, electricity is not going to help us."

"It's bad, isn't it?" Mary asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

John closed his eyes in frustration, "After everything else, can it get much worse?"

Clara caught the Doctor's eye, "It really can."


	8. Bombs and Swimming Pools

"A bomb?!" Mary was flabbergasted, "Where would he get a bomb?"

Before the Doctor could launch into a long and condescending speech about the inner workings of the TARDIS, Clara simply said, "The ship can make things."

"And it made him a bomb?!"

The Doctor ignored John's outrage. "Where was he exactly?"

"In the library, beside the pool."

John and Sherlock exchanged a quick glance. "Just like old times."

"Indeed."

"What was he doing?"

"Just sort of standing. I think he was waiting for us."

"So what do we do?" Mary asked.

"We?!" John looked immediately anxious. "You're staying here."

"Don't be absurd," Mary did her best to sound both reassuring and definitive, without flat out laughing.

"Moriarty is..."

"A psychopath? Known a few of them."

"But, but... Martha needs—"

"Her mum _and_ her dad, so unless you plan on sitting this one out too, I'm going."

John looked both frustrated and worried. He hunted for anyway to win the argument. "The gunmen!" He said at last, "we need someone to watch him. Can't leave him unattended in a place like this."

"I'll guard him," Mycroft volunteered. John looked at him incredulously. "Let's be realistic, however this fight goes Mary will be more useful in it."

"Quite right. Now Doctor, can your ship disable him remotely with a gas or—"

"If his detonator hits the ground the whole thing will blow."

"What happens then, Doctor?" Clara asked, nervously. "What would an explosion in the TARDIS do?"

"I don't know. She would wrap herself around the force, try to save us."

"But it would destroy her."

"Yes. And..."

"And?"

"An explosion in the TARDIS inside the time vortex... We could take out several star systems, perhaps an entire galaxy."

"So we land," Clara said with determination that did not fully mask her fear.

"An exploding TARDIS would destroy at least a planet, perhaps even its system. Where would you suggest, Clara? Hmm? Any systems you don't mind losing?"

"Then we set her down on some abandon rock or at the end of the universe, after Orson escapes, somewhere where we won't do any harm." She was yelling now, "Doctor we are running out of time and we need to do something other than being a crabby pessimist."

The Doctor returned her glare for a long moment before going over to the control panel and setting a new course.

The others glanced between them uncertainly. Finally Sherlock said, "Saving the universe is noble, but we should also find away to save ourselves."

Mycroft added, "This is your world Doctor, what should we do?"

All eyes turned to the Doctor, "Don't look at me. Clara's got all the ideas today, ask her."

Clara was ready to dig into him again, but then her whole face changed, "Actually, I think I do have an idea."

/

Moriarty wandered around the side of the pool. It was less like pacing and more like a stroll. He was strapped with explosives and wearing another person's body, yet he felt strangely elated. It felt so good to have physical form again, to have weight, substance; to come in contact with things. He ran his thumb, that is to say Clara's thumb, over the detonator lightly. Oh how he had missed his sense of touch. There were moments during his _haunting_ that he longed for his senses of taste and smell, but these longings came and went; those loses he could grow accustomed to, but to reach out and touch something, to cause so much harm with just his hands, filled him with immense joy. He had always been a man of action, a man with his finger on the button, so to speak. That never changed. Except perhaps that he was now a _woman_ with _her_ finger on the button.

Moriarty heard the footsteps approaching long before they entered the library. He kept his eyes on the pool, only looking up lazily, after an all too casual pause. The Doctor stood in the front flanked on his left and right by Sherlock and John. The sight of the three of them made Moriarty laugh. "Left your pets behind, I see." Before they could reply, Moriarty added, "I guess, Sherlock you did bring dear Watson. But you were wise to leave your brother out of it. He likes to play politics, but we both know actual confrontations are beyond him. And John, where's the wife? Didn't expect her to leave your side."

"I'm not letting you anywhere near her," John spat back, through gritted teeth.

Moriarty only grinned, "Now is that chivalry or chauvinism? I never can tell. Guess I'll have to worry about that now." He looked down affectionately at Clara's body. The Doctor clenched his jaw. Moriarty noticed. "I suppose your little pet is flying around here with us, Doctor. Out of sight out of mind. She's a clever little thing. I can see why you like her."

"Enough of this," Sherlock said, "What do you want, Moriarty?"

Without taking his eyes off of the Doctor, Moriarty replied, "Run along Sherlock, the adults are talking."

Sherlock, as always, was not so easily silenced, "Come now, the bomb, the pool, if you want our attention—"

"But that's just it, little man. I don't want your attention. I want his." He held the Doctor's gaze, an act made all the more unsettling because he did it through Clara's eyes. "Come on Sherlock, don't you see it? I've out grown you."

"What is it that you want?" the Doctor asked.

"Isn't it obvious? To stay here with you. A single planet could never hold me, I see that now. We'll have a lot of fun together, Doctor."

"No."

"You travel with humans. Don't their little pea brains drive you crazy? I get so tired of all of the stupid. We're a perfect match. You'll get an intellectual equal, and a pretty one at that," Moriarty winked.

The Doctor held himself rigid, anger coursing through him, ready to spill out. "No."

"That's a shame," Moriarty ran his thumb over the detonator again. "We could have been quite the pair. I'll just take your ship then."

"What?!" The Doctor couldn't help it, he laughed. "You want the TARDIS?"

"She's quite the vessel. All of space and time, isn't that right? She'll be in good hands."

"No," the Doctor nearly laughed again at the ridiculousness of the request.

"It's either that or I destroy her," Moriarty's tone had lost its playful edge.

The Doctor nearly shrugged, "It will destroy you too."

"You've worked so hard to _return_ from the dead, are you really ready to give up your life so quickly?" Sherlock taunted.

"Rather not. But then I would take out the three of you. And your brother. And your wife. Not to mention this wonderful ship. And Doctor, your poor little ghost girl would be stuck forever at some far, uninhabited end of the universe. All of that, with the smallest of pressure from this little, feminine thumb." Moriarty bat his eyelashes at them. "You don't want that, Doctor."

"No, I don't."

"Then you are going to do exactly as I say."

"Oh, am I?" the Doctor's accent only sounded thicker with the sarcasm. "And why would I do that?"

"Other than not being blown up?" John mumbled under his breath.

"Because I've won, Doctor. I've beaten you. It's over, there's only one way out of this, and it's my way. You and Sherlock, you're cute, you try, but face it, I'm the smartest man here." Moriarty's self satisfied smile only grew as he looked down at his new body. He walked towards the group until he was just out of arms reach. "Well, I guess I should say, the smartest _woman_."

To Moriarty's surprise the Doctor grinned. "Might have agreed with some of that, but your last assertion is just plain wrong." The image of the Doctor suddenly morphed into one of Clara. The change surprised Moriarty and caused him to hesitate. "Geronimo," Clara signaled, and two things happened simultaneously: a dart hit Moriarty in the back of the neck and the artificial gravity in the room turned off.

All of the room's inhabitants floated weightlessly, along with various pieces of furniture, unstacked books and all of the water in the pool. Only the bolted down shelves remained in place, well, them and Clara. Without a corporeal form gravity had no noticeable affect on her.

She glanced over to the other side of the room, where the Doctor and Mary were connected by the ornate blow dart gun they had used to subdue Moriarty. Mary was still holding the mouth piece, while the Doctor gripped a large bellow. "How'd I do?" she asked him, with a grin.

"You make an excellent Doctor."

"Thought so. And you were... an excellent holder of that... thingy."

The Doctor had been straining against the weight of his end of the blowgun, but soon let it go to float on its own in the absence of gravity. "It's a good thing our best marks_men_ was in fact a _woman_."

"I still don't see why that was important," Sherlock had pushed off the wall in an effort to get closer to the group, but had brushed a small table and was now spinning in a slow circle.

"It was a gift from the Amazonians of Pape VII, a race of warrior women. Designed so that only those with double X chromosomes can use it. It's clever, a weapon that is useless in the hands of their mostly male enemies."

"Which we mentioned before."

"He doesn't really listen," John stated.

Clara chuckled, "Yeah, know what that's like."

"The only problem with Amazonians is they build weapons designed for their great strength," the Doctor added, missing Clara's jab. "Fortunately their strength is similar, though a little less, than Time Lords."

"Yeah, yeah, you're physically superior, we know."

"As well-"

"As well as mentally superior. Doctor, can't we skip ahead?"

"To what?"

"What we do with him for starters."

The Doctor folded his hands across his chest, "This was _your_ plan."

"Wait," John looked between the Doctor and Clara in wonder and growing frustration, "neither of you know what to do next?"

"I would think we should disarm him," Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

"And get him out of Clara's body," Mary added, "while insuring he was still contained."

"Disarming him is easy enough," the Doctor assured the group.

"And the rest of it?"

Clara glanced at the Doctor and then at her unconscious body, "I'm sure we'll think of something."


	9. A Voice in Your Head

The Doctor was able to disarm the bomb and remove it from Clara's body relatively easily. And in a rare act of kindness, the TARDIS turned the artificial gravity on slowly, leaving most of the room's inhabitants enough time to get their footing as they floated to the ground.

The Doctor carried Clara's body back to the console room and set her on the same chair her lifeless body had occupied less than an hour before. Everyone stared at her for a moment. With Moriarty's words and mannerisms, it had been easy enough to see him, despite the form he actually had. Now that they had rendered him unconscious, it simply looked as though Clara had fallen asleep in the Doctor's chair.

"How long will the tranquilizer last?" Clara asked, eager to move on to a solution.

"Three to five hours or so. It's designed to immobilize enemies far bigger than you."

"What do we do now?" John looked at them uncertainly.

"We find a way to stop him," Sherlock stated.

"If we could get another one of those guns, would that kick him out of Clara's head?" Mary asked the Doctor.

"Yes, but—"

"But it would release Moriarty," Sherlock finished, "and I think we can all agree he shouldn't be in _here_ messing about."

"Can we trap him in some way?"

"Like with a prism?" Clara suggested.

"Prison or _prism_?" John clarified.

"A prism. I mean, he is light."

"I doubt it," the Doctor scoffed, unhelpfully.

"Then we boot him out at the end of the universe, where even in radiation form he can't hurt anyone."

"He moves at the speed of light, Clara. How do you propose we return to the TARDIS before he does?"

"Then what's your marvelous idea?" Clara asked in exasperation. The Doctor sneered but did not respond, and even in her anger, Clara nearly laughed. He hated not knowing things.

"What would happen to Moriarty if the body died?"

"Mycroft!" Mary scolded, "That's not an option."

"Forgive me, but we don't seem to have any options at the moment. I was just wondering if it was a possibility."

"I don't know," the Doctor was unsettled, an uncommon look for him, "It may kill him as well."

"Can he leave her body at will? If we just left him somewhere would he be trapped in her body?"

It was John's turn to reprimand, "Sherlock we're not just going to abandon her. That's still Clara's body."

"You're as bad as your brother," Mary added.

"Sherlock and Mycroft are right," everyone turned to Clara in surprise. "We have to be willing to consider every possibility. We can't let him escape, no matter the cost." The Doctor looked at her with his sad, old eyes and Clara knew she couldn't let it come to that, not for herself, but for him. He shouldn't be alone. There had to be another way. "Could I..." Clara was thinking fast, "is there room for me in my head even if he's there?" This question caught the group off guard.

"I don't know," the Doctor was eyeing her strangely, trying to work out what she was proposing.

"How would you get in?"

"Same way he did, I imagine, just sort of sink in."

"To what end?" Sherlock queried.

"See if I can take over from the inside."

"Would that kick Moriarty out?" John asked.

"I don't think so." The Doctor turned back to Clara, "But there's no guaranty that you would be the dominant personality."

"Aren't I always the dominant personality?"

Mary glanced between Clara and the Doctor trying to read their expressions, "Is it dangerous? Could she be lost?"

"It's possible," the Doctor responded without taking his eyes off of Clara.

"Can't get rid of me that easily," she said with a cheeky grin, which was slightly diminished by the Doctor's look of concern. "Even still, you should have a backup plan in case... Well, you know." Clara turned to the group, "Good to meet you all. Hope to see you soon. Through my own eyes, with any luck."

"Clara..." the Doctor's tone was almost pleading, but he stopped himself and added, "good luck."

"Won't need it, but thanks," she gave him a wink. Looking back at her body, she spoke directly to the TARDIS, "Think it's time to make me invisible, Sexy." The change was not accompanied by any sensation, but she could tell by the reaction of the others that they could no longer see her.

"Do you think she can do it?" Mary asked the Doctor tentatively.

"It seems impossible," Mycroft said. The Doctor did not reply, but Mycroft's comment did make him smile slightly.

Clara reached out for her body slowly, expecting to reflect off of it, the way she had with the Doctor, but instead she passed right through the skin and felt herself being pull deep below the surface. For a moment everything went black.

Clara's vision returned to her a moment later, giving her a full view of the console room. She glanced down at her body and saw the same purple dress and black flats that she had put on that evening. _It worked!_ Except... where was everyone? The console room was entirely empty, and now that Clara had fully regained her bearings she realized she was sitting on the floor and not the chair her body had been placed on. Clara got to her feet, looked around again, and this time caught someone peaking around the time rotor: Moriarty. Well, she knew it couldn't be that easy.

"It's a real shame," Moriarty said to no one in particular, even though they were the only people in the room.

"What's that?" Clara asked without interest. Her attention was occupied by the console, every screen, button, and nob perfectly recreated. She really had an exquisite mind.

Moriarty, it seemed, did not share this view, "It's a shame that although your mind manifests itself as this tremendous ship, it only depicts one room."

"Maybe to you." Clara flicked a switched and was delighted by the whirling concentric rings of the time rotor.

"I know why you're here."

"Do you?" Clara responded in an off hand way. She had pushed away from the console and was ascending the small staircase up to the Doctor's chair.

"You came here to try to win back your body. It's not going to work."

"Oh?" Clara was hardly listening. She ran her fingers over the spines of books on the squat shelf before selecting Austen's Persuasion.

"I've fully integrated into this body. I'm in control now and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Okay." Clara took her time finding the most comfortable position on the Doctor's chair and opened the book.

Moriarty stared at her incredulously, "What are you doing?"

"Reading," Clara turned the next page, her eyes never leaving the book. "The Doctor said it would take 3 to 5 hours for the tranquilizer to wear off. I'm not sure how long that is when you're unconscious, but I thought it best to find something to do."

Moriarty laughed bitterly, "Do you really think that's going to work? You think you can unnerve me with this display of apathy?" Clara continued to read. "Look at me!" Clara raised her eyes over the book but did not shut it. "I am the one who's in control."

"You're really not."

Moriarty did his best to regain his aplomb, "Sorry little girl, but you have no idea who I am—"

"Not really the point, though is it?" Clara closed the book and sat up straight. "This is my head, what matters is who _I am_."

Moriarty sneered, "And who are you?"

Clara smiled, "I'm the Impossible Girl."

"Is that supposed to mean something?"

"More than you'll ever know, but here's the Cliff Notes version: to save the Doctor I got myself divided into millions of pieces and spread through history. Millions of versions of me living and dying throughout all of time and space. And when I was put back together I had all of them in my head, their lives, memories, all of it. It should have killed me or driven me mad or made me a vegetable, but it didn't. When I woke up I was me. You are just one more voice in my bigger-on-the-inside head. Why would I have to fight you for control?" Clara returned to her book.

Moriarty glanced around the _room_ as if willing it to change form, to bend to his will. When that failed he rushed over to the console and set upon every button and lever within reach, but fail to generate so much as a sound from the TARDIS. He leaned against the control panel deep in thought, searching for a solution. A moment later a sinister grin appeared on his face. "You think you have it all figured out—"

"I do," Clara turned another page.

"You're wrong. I'm not just another voice in your head. Not one among the millions. Those others, they're really just you, aren't they? Different versions, but all of them you: caring, noble, selfless. You could have an infinite number of those and never notice because they'd all be telling you the exactly same thing. I, on the other hand, will be whispering something very _different_ in your ear."

"What's that they say about being 'all bark'?" Clara taunted, trying her best to hide her growing unease.

Moriarty ignored her, "See, I won't be gone, will I? Not completely. Just buried deep, deep down."

"Forgotten."

"Maybe. Or maybe I'll be biding my time. Waiting for you to let your guard down. Imagine all of the wonderful things I could do if I had control of your body for a day, or an hour, even a minute. Who knows, might even get to see your Doctor again. I'd like that." Clara's vision began to fade. "Time's up, _Impossible Girl_. See you around."

Everything went black. Clara experienced true nothingness and then slowly her senses began to return. She started to feel her body again: the weight of it, the stiffness of the chair under her, and a tight grip on her left hand. Next came voices, soft and indistinct at first, but growing stronger with each moment that past. Out of the noise she could make out, "I think she's coming around." Lastly her sight returned, blurry, but sharpening until she could see the Doctor's worried face hovering close to her own.

"Clara?"

"Miss me?" She asked weakly, a sleepy grin on her face.

"Is it her?" Sherlock asked.

The Doctor's gaze darted between each of her eyes. "Yes," he said at last.

"We have to be sure."

"Doctor, ask her something only Clara would know," Mary urged.

The Doctor considered this a moment, "What... What was the first thing I said to you?"

"You said you didn't like the colour of your kidneys," she replied with a light chuckle.

"Clara! Clara, Clara," the Doctor's relief was palpable. He had a mad grin on his face and squeezed her hand harder. "My Clara."

She squeezed his hand in return, "Told you it would work."

"I never doubted you."

"Is he's gone, then?" Sherlock asked.

"Buried," Clara replied. With the Doctor's help she was able move into a seated position.

"And he can't come back this time?"

"He better not." Clara's flippant tone broke the tension in the room. No one, not even the Doctor, noticed her concealed doubt.

* * *

**A/N **_Just one more chapter to go. I've just got to finish editing it and should publish it in the next few days. The end is in sight._


	10. The Return

**A/N** _Finally done. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

"Suppose we should take you all home," Clara gingerly stood up and walked towards the console with the Doctor's assistance. "It is Christmas after all." Obediently the Doctor set the course, too pleased to be concerned that he was _doing what he was told_.

"What should we do with him?" John asked, pointing at the unconscious gunman still tied to the chair. Mycroft had requested he be 'managed' before the group left to confront Moriarty.

"Is there an airlock we can toss him out?" Sherlock inquired, only half joking.

"The door would work for that," the Doctor responded with the same ambiguous tone.

"We'll give him to the authorities," Clara said decidedly. "Can't exactly charge him with murder anymore, but he did shoot me." It suddenly occurred to Clara that she didn't feel any pain. She looked at her shoulder. The fabric was torn, but her skin was pink and new. "Why aren't I shot?"

"The Doctor patched you up," John replied. "That device is marvellous, it would do a world of good at the clinic."

"No," the Doctor stated unequivocally before any request had actually been made. "Now, back to your parents', is it?" Sherlock nodded.

"Will your ship still be invisible when we land?" Mycroft inquired.

"It can be, why?"

"A spaceship in the living room will be a hard thing to explain."

"They'd never know it was a spaceship. The TARDIS looks like a police telephone box.

"Which isn't exactly easy to explain either," Clara gave him a significant look.

"Invisible, then?"

"Invisible."

The Doctor and Clara each pulled a lever. With the sound of the TARDIS muted, it was the shake of the floor that told them they were now on solid ground.

"Are we back then? To the Holmes'?"

The Doctor glanced at the screen in front of him. "Yes. It's 4:36 pm, December 26, 2014."

"26?!" John protested. The Doctor looked at him blankly.

"That's Boxing Day," Clara clarified.

"Close enough," the Doctor said dismissively. "Besides, I thought you wanted to skip Christmas."

Sherlock looked rather pleased at the idea, but John wasn't ready to let it go, "We missed Martha's first Christmas."

"She doesn't care what the actual date is. We'll celebrate with her today," Mary said reassuringly. John nodded, though he was still disappointed.

The group said their farewells. With the help of the TARDIS's screens they insured that the living room was empty, and then exited the ship. Not a moment after they had closed the TARDIS door behind them, Mrs. Holmes ran into the room.

"Where have you all been? The police were here—" She gasped when she saw the gunman ties to the chair, "Oh god that's him. He's the one... Where's the girl? Where's Clara?" Mrs. Holmes anxiety made her speak very quickly; the group couldn't keep up with her meaning.

"Clara?"

"Is she really dead?"

"Dead?"

"She looked dead... and he said she was."

"Who said?" Mary asked.

"The young man, Dan something. He said this man shot and killed Clara. He had pictures of both of them. We heard the shots of course. We didn't think we should come down, so we called the police. They came with the young man, showed us the pictures, but you were all gone and we didn't know what happened. There was so much blood. Where were you?"

"He escaped with the body... with Clara," Mycroft's tone was honest and reassuring. It would have been impossible for Mycroft to reach his position without being a flawless liar. "We've been tracking him and we're finally able to apprehend him today."

"And Clara?" Mrs. Holmes asked with trepidation.

Mycroft looked grave, "We haven't been able to locate her." Mrs. Holmes held her hand up to her face. "Mother, why don't you go ring the police. They will want to speak to us and... deal with him."

Mrs. Holmes nodded, but looked too upset to respond. She simply left the room. Once she was gone Mycroft locked the living room door behind her. Sherlock called out, "I suppose you heard all of that." In response a door opened out of nothingness and Clara and the Doctor emerged from the TARDIS. "What should we tell the police?"

"What Mycroft said makes about as much sense as we'll be able to, given the circumstances. Go with that."

"But you're not dead."

"I was for a bit," Clara said with a laugh. She added more seriously, "I don't want Danny to get in any trouble for filing a false report. And since there are pictures, if we tell them I'm fine there will be a lot of questions we can't answer without the words 'time machine' or 'alien from the future'. Stick to Mycroft's story, we'll sort out the rest." Each of them nodded and without further discussion the Doctor and Clara returned to the TARDIS.

"It would take about 3 months for that wound to heal as much as it has naturally." The Doctor was already setting a course. "Suppose that's when you should go to the police."

"No." Both Clara's tone and expression were unreadable.

The Doctor was puzzled. He thought he'd understood her intentions perfectly. After a moment it became clear, "Danny. You want to go to see Danny first. He should probably know you're alive—"

"No."

The Doctor glance over at Clara and then back to the control panel. He gripped the console with a mixture of concern and frustration. He was finally understanding her thoughts and he prayed he was wrong. "Your father—" he began again, chancing a look at Clara. She simply shook her head. He smacked the console in anger, but did his best to keep his voice even when he spoke, "Moriarty's gone, Clara."

"Buried."

"Close enough."

"It's not," she said sadly. "He's still in here somewhere, at the back of my mind. What if, somehow, he got out?"

"Win control from a control freak? I don't think so."

"Is it possible?"

"No."

Clara laughed, "I know you well enough to know when you're lying."

"Anything's possible, doesn't mean it will happen."

Clara was shaking her head, "If he gained control..." _Imagine all of the wonderful things I could do... _ "Can't be around the kids anymore. Or Danny. Or my dad... I couldn't put them at risk like that."

"You could stay here," there was a vulnerability to the Doctor's request that broke Clara's heart.

"He'd love that. Full access to the TARDIS."

"We'll go somewhere, then," the Doctor began punching data into the key pad. "A human life is rather short, and there are a number of places that will keep us entertained for the mere 60 years you've got left."

"Doctor." He looked at her imploringly, but she was stubborn and had already made up her mind. "I can't stay with you. You know he would hurt you if he could."

"You don't have to protect me."

"Yes I do. It's sort of my job."

"I thought I was your hobby."

"You're my best friend. I'm not going to endanger you."

The Doctor wanted to object, but he knew her well enough to know she wasn't going to budge, _egomaniac, control freak_. "Where would you like me to take you?"

"I don't know. I'm not safe to be around anymore..."

"Then what was the point, Clara?"

"The point?"

"Why did we work so hard to save you, to get you back to your body if you just want to..." He couldn't say it.

"I don't want to _die_."

"What do you want?"

"I just don't want to let him hurt anyone. If there was somewhere I could go, I'd want it to be somewhere where they would know if he surfaced. Somewhere where he couldn't pretend to be me; couldn't lie." And there it was, an epiphany. Clara knew exactly where she should go. She caught the Doctor's eye and saw that he was thinking exactly the same thing.

* * *

The Doctor stared at the square imprint in the snow where the TARDIS had been. He knew the moment he heard Gallifrey's message that he couldn't leave the town of Christmas, but that didn't mean Clara had to get stuck here too. He had made the right choice. He knew that, but that knowledge didn't stop him from staring at the spot where the TARDIS used to sit; it didn't stop him from missing her.

"That blue box that disappeared, that was your space ship, wasn't it?" a little boy asked him.

"Yes."

"Don't you need it?"

The Doctor chuckled, "Oh probably."

"Then why did it leave?"

"It didn't. I sent it away." The boy raised an inquisitive eyebrow, so the Doctor continued, "It has something on board that was too precious to lose."

"What's that?" the boy asked.

"My friend."

The boy remembered seeing a woman rush into the ship. She had had so much purpose, it didn't look like a goodbye. "She didn't know she was leaving though, did she?"

"No, but I couldn't let her stay here. I couldn't let her die for me. Not again."

The boy looked suddenly anxious, "Are we going to die?"

"Of course, everyone will." The statement terrified the boy. He was on the verge of tears until the the Doctor clarified, "Everyone dies eventually. Even those of us who live a long, long time. No one's dying today." At last he turned away from where the TARDIS had been and faced the boy directly, "Don't worry, I'm here to keep you safe. I'm the new sheriff, remember?"

The Doctor took the boy's hand and they began to walk back towards the centre of town, but stopped at the sound of the TARDIS. "Back already, dear," the Doctor said to it. "Thought you'd sulk for months. I know you don't approve of what I did to Clara—"

The Doctor stopped abruptly and gaped open mouthed. Clara had just stepped out of the TARDIS and closed the door behind her. For a long time neither of them spoke, they simply stared. Finally the Doctor said dumbly, "I sent you away."

"Yes."

"You returned."

"Yes."

He was about to ask 'how', but stop at a realization: she'd changed her clothing. Gone were the red skirt and bow tie cardigan and in their place a purple, cotton dress the Doctor had never seen before. And it wasn't just her clothing, "You've changed; you're older."

"Yes." Clara said for the third time, offering no explanation.

"How—"

"Don't ask me any questions."

The Doctor looked indignant, "Why not?"

"Spoilers."

The Doctor wanted to object, but he knew by the look on Clara's face that it was pointless to argue with her. Perhaps the TARDIS could offer him some answers. He tried to push past Clara, but she blocked his path. "Can't I at least have access to my ship?"

"It's not your ship," Clara responded before she could stop herself. The Doctor took a step back in confusion. "At least... not right now," and as if to illustrate her point the TARDIS departed.

The Doctor glanced between Clara and the space the TARDIS had been.

"You're really here," he sounded as though he couldn't quite believe it.

Clara chuckled, "Yes, I am."

"I was trying to save you from..."

"What, being stuck with you? There are worse things, you know."

"But your family—"

"Will get on just fine without me. Let's face it, you're the one I really look after."

He smiled at that, "Yes, you do." The Doctor reached out and enveloped Clara in a hug. "I missed you."

Clara pulled away enough to give him a look, "I've only been gone half an hour."

"18.3 minutes, actually. Still missed you."

"I missed you, too," Clara tightened her grip on him and rested her head against the Doctor's chest. A cry sounded from the other side of town. "More Weeping Angels?"

"Or Cybermen, Daleks, Sontarans... Who knows what else got in before Tasha sealed off the planet." He reached out to Clara, "What do you say, wanna save the world?"

Clara took his hand and held on tight, "Geronimo!"

Fin.


End file.
